They only drove for a few minutes before Ian pulled into the driveway of a pretty clapboard bungalow on a tree-lined street. She glanced around. “Where are we?”

“My place,” he said.

Marisol glanced over at the house and then at him. They’d always indulged on her turf, on her terms, not on his. She had invited him into her life, for her own purposes, but this was different. He was inviting her into his life now. She sent him an uneasy smile. “I-I thought we were going to go get a-”

“I make a mean steak,” he explained as he hopped out of the car. He circled to her door, then opened it and helped Marisol out. He held her hand as they walked up the front steps to the door, then opened it and steered her inside.

The living room was furnished beautifully in an arts and crafts style, with Stickley-inspired furniture throughout. She walked over to a chair and ran her hand along the cherry finish.

“My brother Marcus and I made the furniture,” Ian said. “He’s kind of an expert with wood.”

One side of the room was lined with bookshelves and they were filled from top to bottom. Marisol crossed the room and studied the titles, surprised at the variety. There were classics and contemporary fiction, how-to books and biographies. “Have you read all these?”

Ian nodded. “Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine?”

“That would be nice.”

He disappeared into the kitchen and Marisol continued her study of her surroundings. As she looked at the bits and pieces of his life, she realized she didn’t know Ian Quinn at all. They’d shared the most intimate of experiences, yet they were little more than strangers. He returned a few moments later with a bottle and a glass. But instead of pouring her a drink, Ian took her hand and pulled her along with him up the stairs.

At first, Marisol thought they might end up in the bedroom, but to her surprise, he took her to the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wondering if he was about to repeat what they’d shared in the Templetons’ powder room.

“I’m drawing you a bath. It’s about time someone took care of you.” As he bent over the huge claw-foot tub, her eyes fixed on his shoulders, the muscles moving beneath the T-shirt. A lock of dark hair hung over his collar and she reached out to brush it aside with her fingers. He glanced up at her and smiled as the hot water poured into the tub.

No one had ever taken care of her before, she mused. But it seemed to come so naturally to him, as if he’d accepted the responsibility without a second thought and was happy for it. Ian held up a bottle of bath salts and she nodded.

The scent of rosemary filled the air and bubbles floated on the surface of the water. “I wouldn’t think you were the type to take bubble baths,” she said, kneeling down beside him to swirl her hand through the water.

“My sister gave me these for Christmas last year. She’s into aromatherapy.” He leaned against the edge of the tub, his gaze skimming over her face. Then he suddenly stood and pulled her to her feet, his hands sliding down along her arms then lower, to the hem of her sundress. Marisol held her breath as he drew it up over her head.

His gaze raked along the length of her naked body and he laughed softly. “Forgot the underwear again, huh?”

“Yes,” she murmured, watching him watch her. She liked how it made her feel when he couldn’t keep his eyes off her, the little shiver of anticipation that ran through her. He wanted to touch her; she could see it in the way his fingers twitched. But he was doing his best to resist for now.

Marisol reached for his T-shirt but he gently took her hands and kissed them both. “Why don’t you relax? I’ll go start dinner.” Taking her elbow, he helped her into the tub, then handed her a sponge.

Marisol sank down into the warm water, sighing as she slipped beneath the surface. The scent of the bath salts filled her head and she closed her eyes and lay back, smiling to herself. How was it that he knew exactly what she needed? She hadn’t realized how tense she was until the warm water surrounded her.

Marisol opened one eye and found him still staring at her, his gaze lazily focused on her breasts. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” She held out her hand, beckoning him to come closer, inviting him to touch her. “It’s just a bath. And we have been naked before. Or almost naked.”

“I thought, after the last time we spoke, you wanted to slow things down.”

“It’s just a bath,” she repeated. But they both knew where it would lead.

“I don’t think it would be just a bath, Marisol.” He paused and shook his head, sending her a reluctant smile. Then he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off. Ian knelt next to the tub and took the sponge from her hand, then slowly ran it over her breasts. She reached out and drew a damp finger along his chest.

He did have the most incredible body, long limbed and lean, yet muscled in all the right places. There was a perfection about him that she’d never seen in another man, every part of him in balance, from his broad shoulders to his flat belly and narrow hips, and his long legs.

“That feels nice,” she murmured. Marisol leaned back and closed her eyes. She felt his lips on her breasts and she moaned softly. He kissed the curve of her neck. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

A tiny thrill raced through her and she opened her eyes. “You’ve missed me? Or the sex?”

“You,” Ian said as if insulted by her insinuation. He chuckled. “And the sex, a little bit.”

Marisol’s eyebrow shot up.

“All right, a lot.” He ran the sponge along her arms. “Funny. I can’t really remember why we decided not to see each other.”

“You said you’d call me and you didn’t,” Marisol said.

“No, I think you said you’d call me.”

In truth, she knew exactly why she hadn’t called him. And the reason was now hidden in the back of a storage room in her apartment. For almost a week, she’d been trying to contact her father about that damned painting, but it was as if Hector Arantes had dropped off the face of the planet. She’d left messages with his landlady, who had assured Marisol that her father was well. But that didn’t go very far to explain why he’d suddenly disappeared.

The more time that passed, the more Marisol thought she might have overreacted to the whole mess. After all, Ian wasn’t about to come banging down her door with a search warrant and a reason to arrest her. He knew nothing about her father and she wasn’t about to enlighten him. There were secrets in her life she wasn’t required to tell a lover-or even the man she loved.

“How is your work coming?” he asked, drawing the sponge over her shoulder, then following it with his mouth.

“Not well,” she said, enjoying the soft caress of his lips on her skin. “I’ve lost my momentum. I’m going to put off the opening for a few more weeks. I need one important piece and I don’t have it.”

“Is there something I can do?” he asked.

Marisol turned, stretching her arms along the edge of the tub. “You can make love to me,” she whispered, running her hand over his cheek. “That always helps.”

His gaze flickered, and for an instant, she thought he might refuse. “Is that all you want from me?” he asked, a sober expression clouding his face.

“What do you mean?”

He paused, as if he were carefully measuring his reply. Then Ian smiled. “Nothing,” he murmured. He bent closer and kissed her, his lips soft against hers, his tongue tracing the crease of her mouth.

Marisol smoothed her hands over his chest, the warm water of the bath heightening her sense of touch. Ian slipped his hands beneath her arms and pulled her up until she knelt in the tub. Slowly, he soaked the sponge and then squeezed water over her body, watching as it ran along her skin and between her breasts. Then, he leaned forward and captured her nipple between his lips, sucking gently until he brought it to a tight peak.

Marisol inhaled slowly and tipped her head back, a wonderful shudder running through her body. Her skin prickled with goose bumps as the air dried it, but she wasn’t cold. She reached down and ran her hand over the crotch of his shorts, his shaft growing hard at her touch.

She wanted to feel him inside her again. It would be so easy to crawl out of the tub and push him back on the floor, to sink down on top of him until he filled her completely. But when she moved to do just that, Ian sat back on his heels, his hand resting on his thighs.

“I think I’d better leave you to your bath,” he murmured. “I’ll go get supper started. You relax.” He grabbed the bottle of wine and poured her a glass, then set them both beside the tub.

A moment later, he was gone. Marisol stared at the door for a long time, trying to understand what had just happened. Until now, she’d been able to read Ian’s responses quite well. He’d always wanted her as much as she wanted him. Had something changed for him over the past few days? Had his desire ebbed?

She sank down in the water until it reached her nose, her hair floating up around her. This was not the way she’d anticipated the evening would go. But then, nothing had gone as planned from the moment she arrived in Bonnett Harbor.

IAN POKED AT THE CHARCOAL with an old spatula, sparks drifting up into the night air. He took a sip of his beer, then glanced over his shoulder at the light coming from the bathroom window. By all rights, he should be up there now, making love to Marisol. But from the moment he first saw her in the grocery store, his need was tempered by an odd new reality.

This wasn’t just about sex anymore. When he saw her, he felt more than just a physical reaction. He was genuinely happy to hear her voice and to see her smile. He found himself wanting to sit with her and talk, to learn more about the woman he knew so well, yet barely knew at all.

But the prospect of feeling something deeper for Marisol frightened the hell out of him. He’d never had a real relationship and wasn’t even sure what was expected of him. Suddenly, this affair was moving far too fast and he felt it was about to careen out of control.

Ian heard the back screen door slam and he waited. Marisol probably wasn’t aware what it had cost him to walk out of the bathroom and walk away from her. But he’d never cared about the women he’d been with in the past, not beyond the momentary pleasures they might have offered.

He slowly turned and watched her approach. Her hair was wet, the ends making damp streaks on his flannel robe. He thought about the body beneath the faded fabric, the body he’d grown to crave, and realized he liked her dressed in his clothes, bathing in his bathtub, walking through his house. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

She nodded and watched him as he tended the fire. “If you-” Marisol paused and took a deep breath. “If you don’t want me anymore you can just tell me. I’ll understand.”

Ian turned to stare at her, stunned by her statement. Was that what she thought? God, how could she ever believe that, especially after what they’d shared together? Ian doubted that he would ever stop craving her body.

“It’s all right,” Marisol said. “We both knew what we were getting into when we started this. And it was fun. But I really don’t want any messy endings. So please, just be honest.”

“You want the truth?” Ian asked.

She sent him a sideways glance, then looked back down into the fire. Her head bobbed in a reluctant nod.

Ian tossed aside the spatula and took her face in his hands, kissing her thoroughly. A tiny cry of surprise slipped from her lips, but then she gave herself over to him, opening her mouth and tasting him fully. He undid the tie on the robe and brushed aside the soft fabric, running his hands over her naked skin.

When he drew back, her lips were damp and her eyes half-shuttered. “My problem is that I want you too much,” he murmured. “Every second of my day is spent wondering when I’m going to be with you again and how it’s going to be between us. Does that scare you, Marisol? Because it sure as hell scares me.”

She laughed softly, her fingertips coming up to his face to touch his smile. “I’m not afraid,” she said.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t be, either.” Ian smoothed her damp hair back from her face and looked deeply into her dark eyes. How the hell was he supposed to know where this was going? And did it make any difference? He’d always imagined that falling in love was a leap of faith. Everyone knew the odds were fifty-fifty at best.

Throwing himself into a full-fledged love affair with Marisol Arantes was just as hazardous. This wasn’t a series of one-night stands for him. He wanted more, something concrete, defined. But what? Until he knew for sure, perhaps it was best to keep his real fears to himself.